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Thursday, May 10, 2012

Chapter 7

I haven't posted any of Lillianne's struggles recently so I thought I'd give you the next bit. FYI, I have submitted it to a publisher as a series so if you like it, wish me luck and send me all of your positive energy that they give it a green light!

James
sat on his narrow single bed in his butler’s quarters, frustrated. Enraged.
Damn that Lillianne. He knew from the beginning there was something about that
woman. Harlot! How could he have let the wedding proceed?

So much for the quiet, conventional
married life he’d envisioned for his master. Lillianne became part of the
household and turned everything upside down. Now that ridiculous Phillip Samms
was here! Ewan was more distracted and unavailable than ever. Samms and his
preposterous treatments. Using Draper Estate like his own nefarious playground.
How could Ewan not see he was simply a misogynistic ne’er-do-well that was
reeking havoc and making a mockery of his private life?

All James had ever wanted was
success for Ewan Draper, his lord and master. That was his duty to his
profession, his calling, as butler of Draper Estate. Helping his lord have an
appropriate, respectable home life so that he was free to achieve greatness
with Draper Industries was James’s ultimate goal. Couldn’t his lordship see
that?

Damn!
James pounded his fist on his bed, let out a frustrated sigh and lay back, closing
his eyes. An image of Ewan and Phillip in the library as his master dismissed
him flashed in his mind. He grimaced in frustration even as the familiar
stirrings took hold. He tried to ignore it. But the more he battled against his
feelings the more his body insisted.

No.
I will not, he told himself.

Sitting
up he adjusted himself so that he could go to the kitchen and get a knife.

‘Please,
Doctor! PLEASE! Oh god!’ Ewan could hear the shrieking and pleading as he was
coming down the hall.

He felt a potent mix of horrifying
guilt and pounding arousal. He was late. He hadn’t meant to be. There had been
a mix up with a vendor for the mill, a problem only he could attend to. By the
time he’d finished up he was two hours late for his session with Lilly.

After those first few days under
Phillip’s care she’d pleaded with Ewan to do something, to change her
treatment. It was the justification Ewan needed.

Ewan
could barely admit it to himself, didn’t want to think too long about what it
meant, but he hadn’t been enjoying fucking his wife after her therapy, her limp
body lifeless under him while he pumped his seed perfunctorily into her. Not
when the memory of what her thrashing pulsing body had felt like lived in his
head. Lilly’s unhappiness was the excuse he gave himself to tell Phillip that
he now wanted to be present to oversee his wife’s therapy. Phillip had
initially balked but Ewan insisted. As he explained to Phillip, he felt it was
only practical that he eventually assume management of his wife’s affliction
himself and how could he learn to do so unless he was privy to how it was
managed. They eventually came to a compromise. Phillip could begin with some
testing, research to better understand the limitations and parameters of
Lilly’s body and how it was affected, as he explained to Ewan. But he would not
begin treatment and definitely not bring about paroxysm until Ewan was present.

Now Ewan was two hours late. He
could only imagine, based on the desperate pleading emitting from the lab, what
kind of testing Dr. Phillip Samms was conducting.

It
hadn’t been Phillip’s intention to break the agreement he and Ewan had come to.
His session with Lillianne began quietly enough. He decided that the break from
her physical treatment gave him a chance to delve into her psychological state,
so he commenced with questioning her about her background. When had feelings of
this nature started, what brought them on? As he continued along this vein he
made a fascinating discovery. He couldn’t wait to do some testing based on what
Lilly confessed to him about her time working at the mill.

Next Phillip began showing Lilly
various pictures, photographs he’d been able to come by thanks to his
affiliation with Ms. Rodham, depicting men and women in various compromising
positions. From what he’d read, only men became aroused by visual stimulation.
Normal women did not. Hence, he wanted to gauge the nymphomaniac’s reactions to
these explicit pictures. Lilly was initially shocked at the explicitness and
looked away. But he could see that she was a naturally curious person. Or maybe
it was her illness that compelled her to want to see these graphic portrayals.
Yes, of course that’s it, Phillip thought. At any rate, he insisted she
carefully study each flailing limb, each ecstatic expression, every exposed bit
of flesh. At that point it was necessary to have her undress so he could
proceed with a pelvic examination.

As he suspected, he parted Lilly’s
pubic hair and labia to reveal shining wetness inside her soft pink folds.
She’d even gasped at his touch, so he naturally felt it necessary to restrain
her.

Ewan still had not arrived so, with
his patient undressed and available in this way, Phillip decided to conduct some
further physical testing. When Lilly protested, saying how her husband would be
displeased he said, ‘Now, don’t worry Mrs. Draper. I’m not going to start slow
paroxysm without Ewan. I’m simply checking some reactions and reflexes.’

Phillip had seen before how his
patient’s clitoris would stiffen like a small penis when aroused. But now he
wanted to do more intensive investigation. Gently easing back the clitoral
hood, he carefully used his finger to test the clitoris’s sensitivity in
different areas. As Lilly panted and sighed, Phillip rubbed gently on one side,
then the other. He flicked the little button rapidly, then stroked up
underneath it. When he put his wet finger right under the stretched back hood
and massaged in lazy circles, the volume of Lilly’s cries increased.

‘Now Lillianne. Control yourself,’
he admonished. ‘I haven’t even started your treatment yet.’

Next,
he took an artist’s paint brush, a tiny one meant for creating very intricate
detail, and with its silky soft bristles dipped in Lilly’s seed, he painted her
tiny nub with easy up and down strokes.

Lilly’s limbs were shaking now.
‘Please, doctor,’ she said. ‘Remember,’ she puffed out, between gasps. ‘W-what
my husband, oh god,’ she said as he continued with the paint brush. ‘He doesn’t
want me to, ah! AH!’

Phillip took the brush away.
‘Lillianne. I’m only using this tiny brush. It’s bristles are the softest, the
lightest I could find. Surely you can manage to control yourself while I
conduct these simple tests.’

He went back to using the brush but
Lilly simply could not seem to calm down. Phillip marveled at how, even with
this tiny tool, her clitoris swelled and stiffened as big and hard as ever,
possibly even more so.

‘The degree of this affliction never
ceases to amaze me,’ Phillip murmured, flicking softly with the brush as he
gazed at his patient’s bucking hips. Her cries reached a crescendo when he
stopped. ‘Lillianne, Ewan will be here at any moment. You don’t want your
husband to see you writhing and gyrating like a whore, do you?’

Silence.

‘Well, do you?’

‘N-no, doctor.’

‘Very well,’ Phillip said. ‘Why
don’t you take a second to breathe. Relax. Regain your composure. In a moment
we’ll begin again, this time, I’m certain with more control. Ewan should be
here very soon and then we can get on with your paroxysm.’